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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24519748">Diplomacy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylark/pseuds/Skylark'>Skylark</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Writing Commissions [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Colonization, Gen, Origin Story, Pre-Canon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:20:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>922</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24519748</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylark/pseuds/Skylark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She was delivered to Fódlan on her grandfather's finest ship, accompanied by chests full of the riches of her nation: fruits, sugarcane, rare minerals, weapons, pottery, and more. Even the ship itself was a gift for Fódlan—a proud product of her people's skill as fearless seafarers, and beneath that a reminder that it was <em>their</em> swift ships that had borne Brigidian and Dagdan troops to Fódlan's shore.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Writing Commissions [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/779259</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Diplomacy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I cried about Petra so much to my non-fire emblem friend that he asked me to write this. I have...a lot more to say but this will do for now.</p><p>Written for a BLM fundraising drive, to thank people for donating to the cause. More information can be found at <a href="https://thingwithfeathers.dreamwidth.org/">my dreamwidth account</a>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She was delivered to Fódlan on her grandfather's finest ship, accompanied by chests full of the riches of her nation: fruits, sugarcane, rare minerals, weapons, pottery, and more. Even the ship itself was a gift for Fódlan—a proud product of her people's skill as fearless seafarers, and beneath that a reminder that it was <em>their</em> swift ships that had borne Brigidian and Dagdan troops to Fódlan's shore. </p><p>Petra had brought along her own things, too: her favorite comb, deep-dyed clothes in royal maroon, and jewelry befitting an heir apparent. She was attended by her family's most faithful servants and guards. She spent the trip browning beneath the reflected sun on ocean water, leaning over the side of the rail to watch the curious dolphins that kept pace beside the ship, and speaking with people she'd known since she was born.</p><p>When they arrived, the Fódlan greeting party swept on board, resplendent in their high collars and layers of cloth. Their leader scanned the tidy deck, all of Brigid's gifts arrayed to attract and delight the eye, and wrinkled his nose.</p><p>Petra's translator stepped forward, relaying her grandfather's greetings and explaining all the riches that they'd sent. The Fódlan man interrupted with a brusque wave of his hand.</p><p>"Arrest them all," he said. "Take the girl."</p><p>"The ship?" One of his soldiers asked.</p><p>"Burn it," he said, already turning away.</p><p>Petra remembers being yanked from her lady-in-waiting's arms, hearing her scream; she remembers her head being shoved down as she was force-marched down the gangplank to the carriage that waited for her. Tossed bodily onto rich velvet cushions, by the time she caught her breath the carriage was already moving.</p><p>She lunged upright and brought her fists up before her face, her mind racing. She glanced around, taking in the carriage's cramped interior. Two guards sat across from her. They watched her, tense, but they did not speak, and neither did she. After a few moments she lowered her arms.</p><p>She tried to raise the heavy window curtain to see what was outside, but one of them shoved her hand away.</p><p>Her back straightened, indignant, and she looked the guard in the eye. The guard looked back for a moment before his expression twitched. He pointed to the window and shook his head. They didn't want her to know where she was, or they didn't want people to realize who was inside this carriage.</p><p>She could fight them, she thought—or, she could wait for an opportunity. After a moment's consideration she folded her arms and leaned back in her seat, and the guards relaxed slightly. </p><p>This trip had been so abrupt, Petra thought. Her grandfather had gripped her shoulders in his wrinkled, strong hands and said, "Fódlan has asked for you." Even then she had found the passive voice ominous but the ensuing preparations, as lively as planning for a festival, had eased her concern. Now she realized that the ship's treasure had been a bribe more than a gift, a final bid from her grandfather to protect his last descendant. </p><p>A hostage, she thought. A prisoner of war. Why now? The Dagda and Brigid War had been declared over, though for the people of Brigid the violence had been going for centuries and would go on for longer still.</p><p>She realized after a moment that she was clutching the spiraling tattoo on her upper arm, her nails digging into her skin. <em>Spirits protect me in this dangerous place.</em></p><p>Then she looked around the narrow cabin, her thoughts falling into the patterns of a warrior of Brigid: looking for openings, details. <em>What do I have?</em> she thought. <em>What can I use?</em></p><p>She glanced at her bare hands, her sandaled feet. Bowing her head made her earrings swing, and the weight of them made her blink fast.  They were the last things she owned, aside from the clothes on her back.</p><p>She reached up to fiddle with one. They'd taken away her people, her clothes, her jewels. They would likely take what she was wearing too, once she arrived at their destination. But they could not take the spirits away from her, she thought, remembering the royal color inked in tattoos across her body. They could not take her mind.</p><p>If her last material possessions were going to be taken from her anyway, she might as well make what use of them she could now.</p><p>Her decision made, she looked at the guards and smiled. Their impassive expressions didn't change.</p><p>She put a hand on her chest. "Petra," she said, and then reached for her earrings. The guards tensed as she pulled them free, and stared as she held them out. </p><p>"For you," she said in her own language. She pushed her hand towards them again, the gesture clear even if her words were not.</p><p>The guards glanced at each other, and then had a low conversation. One of them laughed. Then they reached out and took her gift. The gold was heavy and soft, nearly pure, passed down through generations of women on her mother's side. Her hand lifted as they took them from her, unmoored by the loss of weight.</p><p>The guards put their heads together, exclaiming over their exquisite detail. They pocketed them eagerly, and one guard flashed a grin at her.</p><p>She smiled back, nodding. "Petra," she said again, pressing a hand to her chest.</p><p>"Henry," one of them said. "Thank you."</p><p>Gratitude comprised the first words she learned in Fódlan. It had served her well ever since.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For the rest of her time in Fódlan, the guards she befriended on her first day slipped her information, let her go places she shouldn't have, and helped her when they could—but that's another story for another time.</p><p>(Follow me @petrarights on twitter if you want to see me screaming about Petra and Claude in real time)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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